


Blink

by ensou



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Tracer!Taylor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensou/pseuds/ensou
Summary: Torn out of time, Taylor is faced with the loss of everything she's known. But even when all seems lost, sometimes help comes from the unlikeliest of places, and family is found in those who care...





	1. Blink 1.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone in the WormFanfic subreddit asked about Overwatch crossovers, and I couldn't get this out of my head. Originally posted September 17, 2016 on Sufficient Velocity.

“Hey, look.”

“Is that her?”

“She’s so… normal.”

I hunched over myself further, curling around the math textbook that I held clenched to my chest. My fingers tightened their grip, the knuckles of my hands turning white.

“What’s her name again?”

“Taylor? Taylor something, I think.”

I tried to ignore the voices, the whispers that followed me through the halls. Clamping down on the desire to _escape, run, get away_ , I stopped myself before I accidentally activated my rewind function, jumping me back to the beginning of the hall. That would be the worst possible thing to do right now.

My book was clutched tighter to my torso, squishing the edges of the plasteel casing under my shirt into my skin and keeping the blue circular glow that never went out hidden from view.

_Just ignore them. They can’t do anything to you._

Easier said than done.

I would’ve liked nothing more than to blink away in a flash of light. To not have to deal with any of this. But Dragon had said I needed to go to school, that it would be good for me to socialize again with people my age outside of the Rig.

Hah. Like I’d ever truly socialized with normal people my age since Emma.

She knew that, of course, but it didn’t change that she was probably right. Staying in my room all the time wasn’t going to do anything for me.

It had been only two weeks, but it felt like forever, an eternity.

Two weeks since the accident. Since I’d come home to find half my house eaten by a translucent bubble of displaced time, which I’d stupidly tried to run into it to try and find my dad.

I scratched at the itchy edge of my accelerator that always flared up when I thought about what’d happened and fought to keep the sadness I felt about Dad away.

They’d gotten her eventually, the bitch who’d done it, some tinker named “Bakuda” who specialized in bombs. But not before she’d killed hundreds of people, melting and twisting and dissolving and glassing and freezing them.

There was only one person they’d managed to save from her more exotic effects.

Me.

My accelerator started spinning up again as I unconsciously fed more power to it. A steady, quiet hum grew, only perceptible to someone who’d heard it as much as I had.

After taking another calming breath, I suppressed the reaction, letting go of the metaphorical live-wire of power that ran through my body and the sound died down, the accelerator dimming slightly.

It had taken six tinkers, _six_ , to pull me back into the normal flow of time and create the device that now anchored me here. Dragon, Armsmaster, Kid Win, Chronal, Lifeline, and Integra.

Dragon had been unwilling to let it go once she’d found out about me. She’d been the one who coordinated all the tinkers, reaching out to the ones with specialties that would help, getting everybody working in one direction and keeping them on track.

It’d been their work that unintentionally gave me the abilities I now had. The power to leap forward seconds in time, or rewind myself back to how I’d been seconds before.

Abilities that made the public label me a cape.

They called me Tracer.

I didn’t entirely understand the reason behind the name, but at least it wasn’t something like “Chubster”.

The problem was, my identity was public. The media had found out who I was early on during that waking nightmare, when I’d been little more than a ghost flickering in and out of the normal timestream. The now semi-permanent fixture strapped to my chest that glowed an unnerving blue and made me easily recognizable didn’t help, either.

I’d been given a choice of either staying in Brockton or moving somewhere else. I’d decided to stay in Brockton. It was all I had left, and moving somewhere else wouldn’t make me any less noticeable. After that was where I was going to school. I didn’t like the thought of Immaculata, and I’d had enough of Winslow for a lifetime, no matter the fact that I’d never have to see Sophia again.

So Arcadia it was.

I wish I could have just stayed and talked more with Dragon, or even Miss Militia, instead of coming in today.

Chris walked past me on the other side of the hall and I had to forcibly keep myself from raising a hand in greeting.

I couldn’t interact with any of the Wards at school, because people would be scrutinizing every little thing I did, trying to draw connections even where there were none. It was when the things they started speculating about were actually true that things became a problem, because the holes in the excuses started lining up. Which meant no publictly interacting with anybody connected to the Protectorate or Wards. Directly at least.

Victoria and Amy were supposed to be here, but I hadn’t seen them yet. They were a year ahead of me anyways, so they wouldn’t be in any of my classes. I think. I hadn’t gotten a chance to compare electives with them. They were still trying to talk me into joining New Wave, well, Glory Girl was at least. Amy just found her sister’s attempts amusing, like she was glad not to be on the receiving end of Victoria’s persuasion attempts for once.

But one stupid run-in with Krieg, Othala, and Rune, and suddenly everybody is giving you a cape name and speculating on what team you’re going to be on and what your costume is going to be like and who would win in a versus fight.

“Holy shit, it’s Tracer.”

I unsuccessfully tried to hide myself further behind my book, imagining the brown leather flight jacket I wore as a shell that would block out the rest of the world. The same jacket I’d been wearing at that fight. Why had I decided to wear this today?

Oh right, because it was the _only_ jacket I had, and the straps for my base harness were quite clearly visible through my shirt in the back.

I hadn’t even really done that much that day, I’d only been minorly involved. But apparently that didn’t matter to the public. To them, if you had abilities, and got in fights with capes, then you were a cape too.

It didn’t help that the PRT’s PR office was chomping at the bit to work on me.

I got to my locker and emptied all the supplies I didn’t need for the first few periods into it, keeping the math textbook out as a barrier. A shiny new combination lock got snapped shut through the handle, my backpack returning to its place over my shoulder, digging my harness’ strap further into my skin. I’d have to talk to Dragon and see if she could make them better in that respect, because it was going to be a serious annoyance otherwise.

The early bell rang, and the hallways impossibly got louder as the shuffling of numerous bodies moving around increased, everybody shifting to try and filter towards their first period class.

I pulled the folded class schedule from my jacket pocket, checking my first classroom’s number, and then heading off in what I thought was the right direction.

Time to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at a major canon divergence AU. Taylor doesn’t trigger. Bitch, Regent, and Grue all die from Lung’s attack, Tattletale left for dead but clinging to life. Armsmaster arrives with Assault, Battery, and Dauntless (larger, more destructive fight, more Protectorate deployed) and manage to capture Lung together using Armsmaster’s sedative. Lisa/Sarah is stabilized and taken in by the PRT and is still under watch.
> 
> Bakuda rampages and ends up killing more people than in canon, escalating to match the strength of the Protectorate instead of the Undersiders. Danny is caught in a time-displacement bomb that goes off near the house and Taylor tries to enter it to get to him, only to end up getting half-torn out of time for her troubles. The displacement field collapses after a few hours, leaving nothing behind except Taylor in her wraith-like state.
> 
> Bakuda is given a kill-order and dealt with within the week (Oni-Lee as well) by the other villains collectively, though Skidmark, Mush, Hookwolf, and Menja all die before they succeed.
> 
> Taylor flickers around the city for a few days, some people managing to catch her on camera. She’s initially nicknamed “Gray Girl” because of her unsaturated appearance and the flickering when she’s visible that’s reminiscent of Gray Boy. The PRT and Protectorate publicly denounce the name and Taylor’s possible relation to the original Gray Boy, so the media instead jumps on using Taylor’s real name instead.
> 
> Armsmaster decides to personally track down Taylor, Dragon tagging along in his helmet due to curiosity. They find Taylor, and barely manage to communicate through signals. They get her to follow them to the Protectorate Rig, and Dragon convinces Armsmaster to help try and save Taylor. They struggle with the problem as neither have a quick, direct solution, which is what they need, and Dragon ends up bringing in other tinkers to help despite Armsmaster’s extreme reluctance to accept outside assistance.
> 
> During the build, Dragon talks to Taylor as much as she can, empathizing with Taylor’s situation of being trapped and unable to interact normally, and becomes the primary adult influence in Taylor’s life over the next few weeks. Taylor is a ward of the state, but her situation is complicated by her public identity and the recognizable device she has to wear 24/7, which makes her unable to enter the foster system normally. The option of emancipation is being investigated.


	2. Blink 1.2

“How was your first day at school, Taylor?”

I sighed, slinging the backpack off of my shoulder and onto the floor next to the desk.

“It was fine, I guess,” I responded. “It’s just… everybody was looking at me. I couldn’t…”

I swallowed.

“You know they’ll stop in time, right? I’m sure they’re just curious.”

“I know, Dragon. I _know_ , but it’s just…” I looked over at the computer screen on my desk where an image of a dark-haired woman sitting in front of her own desk in a well-lit room was. “It’s happening _now_.”

The woman sighed. “How was the rest of your day, at least?”

I leaned back in my chair. “It was okay. School. But it was so _different_ from…” I trailed off.

“From Winslow,” Dragon finished. I nodded

“Everybody seemed to want to talk to me, and the teachers were all nice, and all of the other kids were nice to me too, and it’s like, like…” I drew my legs up, hugging them and pressing them against my accelerator, my feet resting on the seat. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it _can’t_ be like that, right? It _can’t_ be that easy. And I keep looking for proof that it’s all an act, trying to figure out why they want to know _me_ , other than just because I can do things. And I _know_ Jessica says it’s a defense mechanism, that I shouldn’t be expecting the worst all the time, that what I went through has conditioned me and I have to actively work against it, but it’s so hard to _just let go._ ”

Something warm dripped down my cheeks.

Oh great, I was crying. _Fuck._

My breathing was shaky, and I hadn’t even noticed when it had started.

Dragon looked sympathetic. “It’s times like these that make me wish I could give you a hug.”

I gave a hiccuping laugh, rubbing at my eyes with the heels of my palms, trying to wipe away the tears. “Yeah.” When had been the last time I’d had a hug? A year? More? I couldn’t remember the last time Dad had given me one.

I sniffled, and then forced myself to take a deep measured breath. “It’s alright. I’ll be fine.”

“You know Doctor Yamada says you shouldn’t box up your feelings,” Dragon said.

I laughed again, this time less wet-sounding. “I know. I’m trying. This? This wouldn’t have happened two months ago. I wouldn’t have been crying over something stupid like this.”

“It’s not stupid, Taylor. They’re perfectly valid feelings considering what you’ve gone through.”

I sniffed again, and it finally felt like my eyes weren’t getting any wetter, but didn’t say anything.

“Did you see Victoria and Amy? Or anybody else?” she asked. The change in subject didn’t escape my notice.

“Yeah. I had lunch with them. And Dean. I saw Chris in the hallways before classes, but nobody else.”

Dragon gave me a smile. “Well that’s good. Something familiar, at least.”

“I didn’t have any classes with anybody, though,” I told her.

She shrugged. “They’re all in different grades than you. It wasn’t unexpected.”

I simply nodded.

“How did the accelerator hold up?” she questioned, shifting gears again.

“It was fine. I wish it was less obvious,” I said.

“Well, I can’t make any promises, but Colin and I are working on something that may help with that,” Dragon told me.

“Can I get some better straps, at least? My backpack sits right on top of them,” I explained, fussing with the cuff of my leather jacket. “The jacket helped, kinda. I didn’t even know it was going to be a problem before today…”

Dragon smiled. “I think we can get you a nicer harness, especially if you’re going to keep wearing it under your clothes at school.”

“It’s just… easier,” I said. Even if it made me look flatter than I already was, it meant that it was hidden from view. That people couldn’t openly gawk at me as easily. Or worse, ask to touch it.

It was supposed to be pretty stable and safe, but I still didn’t want to deal with people potentially screwing up the only thing keeping me anchored in normal-time.

I didn’t technically have to wear it, that was just the most convenient way to drag it with me everywhere. _Really_ , I only had to be within a meter or so of it at all times so that the field it emitted countered my own “relative local tachyon synchronization imbalance”. AKA flickering in and out of reality and being a real-life Schrödinger’s cat.

They’d shown me recordings of what it had looked like. I was washed-out like a black and white image, blinking in and out and flickering like a video skipping frames.

To me, it had been the opposite. Everything _else_ had been greyscale, alternating between perfect clarity and looking like it was all viewed underwater, though I could move around the same no matter what.

I didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or do anything during those days. I just _was_.

I’d thought it was simply a dream, a nightmare, at first.

Oh, it’d been a nightmare alright, but not a dream.

“I admit it wasn’t something we gave a lot of thought to originally. Something custom-fitted would probably be best,” Dragon said, bringing me back to reality. “Do you have any preferences for materials?”

I shrugged. “Not really?” I didn’t even know what kind of stuff there was.

“I’ll look into it then,” she said, looking down at something on her screen. “We’ve already got scans of you from when we made the accelerator, so I’ll just use that model for fitting.” Dragon looked back up at the camera. “It shouldn’t take more than a day at most.”

I gave her as much of a smile as I could manage. “Thanks, Dragon.”

She shook her head. “It’s no problem, Taylor, really.”

“You don’t _have_ to do all of this, thou–”

“But I want to,” she interrupted. “I want to help you, and that’s why I do. Not everybody’s looking for something from you when they do something.”

I sagged. I still had doubts, occasionally. They were getting rarer, but they still flared up, like now. Why everybody was helping. Why they were bending over backwards now when before they’d just ignored me. Why _Dragon_ was taking a personal interest in me and helping so much, ostensibly for no reason other than she wanted to. Not because I was an experiment, or a test, or she wanted to make sure I didn’t blow up (okay, that last one might have been a minor part of it), but simply _because she wanted to_.

It felt… nice, really really nice, having someone do that. Care. The problem was how broken I was from Emma, how I had simultaneously had a pathological fear of making deep connections because of the betrayal and a deep-seated desire for human contact and care because I hadn’t had it in so long.

Or at least, that’s what Jessica had told me when I’d asked.

When I’d asked her why she’d answered –because wasn’t that not normal for therapists– she told me that the best thing to do with someone like me is to be completely open and honest.

I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about all of that.

I really liked Dragon, too. I _wanted_ to be able to just trust and accept her. She was like this astoundingly smart big sister, with how she treated me and the way she acted. And I liked having people I could talk to with some regularity and who could understand –the Wards and Amy and Victoria– who might even be friends.

“I can tell you’re deep in thought, so I’ll just leave you to that and go check on Colin. I’m sure you have homework to do too,” Dragon said teasingly. “You should get it done before dinner. I hear Hannah’s cooking tonight.” My mouth started watering at the thought. “I’ll talk to you later afterwards if you want.”

I just nodded, not trusting my mouth and instead taking the easy way out of admitting that I had grown semi-used to and maybe mildly dependent upon our conversations.

“Bye for now,” she said.

“Thanks, Dragon,” I repeated, though this was more broad-scoped, not just _thanks for helping with the harness_ but _thanks for being there, thanks for caring, thanks for believing in me when nobody else did_.

“Of course. Just call me if you need me,” she said warmly.

I nodded, my throat thick.

The screen blinked off.

After a moment, I sighed and started digging through my bag for my homework.


End file.
